


First Woman

by lalejandra



Category: Young Guns (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Transformative Works Welcome, Visions, indigenous myth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-19
Updated: 2004-12-19
Packaged: 2019-07-17 14:14:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16097297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalejandra/pseuds/lalejandra





	First Woman

They call him the Injun and they call him _Navajaho_ and they don't take him seriously. Too white man for the reservation, too Indian for the white world. The Din did not teach him to talk to white men as equals -- white men understand too little of the world. They see only the earth, sky and sun and water. They don't see the evidence of Father Sky and Mother Earth all around in everything. They do not, can not, feel the four dark worlds.

Jose would not be able to either, but for his the grandmothers. When he was left to live on the Reservation -- when he _chose_ to live on the Reservation -- he was taught. Walking in Beauty made more sense than walking in the white man's world, and despite the protests of the elders, he was taught.

Now it is coming in handy. He passes the cup of peyote down, calls on Father Sky, digs his toes and fingers into Mother Earth. The others drop back -- they are white men, they do not know, can not see. But Jose is finally a true Din.

He sits at the fire and watches the flames dance until he is spoken to.

"I am First Woman," says a low voice. He looks up, and she is sitting across from him.

"First Woman, I am Jose. I seek wisdom." He isn't sure if he should give his Navajo name -- but she nods. Her long hair is twisted into plaits and streaked with silver. Her face is wide and flat, and looks like his -- she could be his mother or his womb-sharer.

"I know what you seek." She doesn't smile. He wants to. She holds a stick, and uses it to poke the flames. "When I was first made, my fire was turquoise. You wear no turquoise, grandson."

"Grandmother, it was all taken from me." By the _vatos_ who murdered his family, his clan, everyone. Who would have murdered him -- who are still trying.

"You must take it back."

Behind him, Steve and Charley begin to scream. Billy is somewhere with them, pounding his feet into the ground.

"Grandmother, I cannot. It's all gone."

They sit in silence. She pokes at the fire again. Her eyes are black and deep; looking into them makes Jose uncomfortable, like there are snakes in his skin.

She speaks again: "When I was made, I climbed through many worlds with my companions, and gained much wisdom."

"I have no wisdom in front of you, grandmother," he replies. Ritual words for First Woman -- how could he have wisdom when First Woman sits in front of him?

"How can you have wisdom?" she asks. "You are Din but you live like the white men, like these strangers. You like with them, call them friend. They destroy -- only destroy."

"I destroy too, grandmother," he says.

She spits on the ground.

They are silent as the sun comes up. Jose twists to watch the sun rise, evidence that the Holy Ones still watch the fifth world. When they die, if they die, if they _can_ die, the sun will go out, and the fifth world will become as all the others, a dark world.

The tale of the Holy Ones, First Woman, First Man, Turquoise Boy... that is the first thing he can remember his mother telling him. They watched the sun come up, she cradled him in her arms, and she said, "You must always watch the sun come up; you must always awaken in time to make sure it rises."

The others are reacting as white men do to peyote -- shooting things, running around, screaming. They see things that aren't there and hear things that aren't speaking.

Jose stares at First Woman. As the sun rises, it hits her, warms her skin; she turns her face up to greet it, her eyes closed.

When the sun is risen, First Woman stands. Jose can see through her. The blanket thrown over her shoulder is the same color as the ground and the grass, as the mountains and the rocks. Her feet look tough, like the leather of his saddle.

She bends over and touches his forehead and says, "I can give you answers, but they aren't the ones that you want. Come to me, grandson; I am the direction you wish to go in. You will be barred from this path, but you must still try. And when you have come to me, you will be happy -- but it will never be over."

"You speak in riddles, grandmother," he says, desperate to keep her with him for even just one more moment.

"I speak in truth, grandson. It is only your time in the white world that prevents you from hearing it." She turns and shuffles two steps west, and then disappears.

Jose lies down where he was sitting. The fire is smoldering, the cinders glowing red, barely, in the watery dawn light. He closes his eyes and sleeps there, the peyote making him feel slightly sick, and in his dreams, his mother is telling him the story of First Woman's journey through the four worlds of darkness.

  



End file.
